


Other Worlds

by FadeKhat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Non-Canon Relationship, Nonbinary Character, Wilderness Survival, everything is a social construct, real queer in Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadeKhat/pseuds/FadeKhat
Summary: I always used to roll my eyes at tales of everyday people swept away to worlds of fantasy and wonder -- if I were ever lucky enough to leave the monotony of modern life behind, I told myself, there'd be no coming back! But, mere moments into my time in Thedas, my dreams of adventure became a nightmare…Van, a 20-something nonbinary journalist, awakes in Thedas without a clue how to communicate and full knowledge of the trials to come. Determined to build themself a new life in a harsh and unforgiving world, and fearful of discovery, Van is unable to stand by while the people who were once little more than pixels on a screen die. When Van’s “visions” come to light, however, they are faced with a dilemma like no other – do they unmask Fen'Harel, shielding Inquisitor Elana Lavellan, their creation and newfound friend, from heartbreak and preparing her to do battle with her entire pantheon, or is there another way to secure the future of Thedas?Is it even their place to say?





	1. Lucid Dreams

I awoke in a place I had seen many times before -- too many times, probably.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes, now nothing but splinters of glass and stone. High above, the Breach. Swirling, writhing black and green.

I’d never had a dream so clear, so incredible. I tried to keep control of myself. I breathed -- in, out -- and looked down at my hands.

Strange, usually I couldn’t keep my fingers straight while dreaming -- that was my tell, my signal to lucid dream -- but there they were. Two hands, ten fingers. So clear I might’ve been waking. I pressed my thumb into my palm, and it didn’t given an inch. That was new too.

_ Stay calm,  _ I reminded myself. _ Enjoy this. It’s what you’ve always wanted, don’t go waking yourself up now! _

The breach screamed overhead, it’s power vibrating in the air all around me, raising the hair on my arms and sending prickles down my spine. Incredible. I stood there, enraptured, arms raised in awe for a long moment before a rock came clattering down from the collapsed floor above, and something ghostly, ethereal, and green followed it down.

_ Wraiths! _

My toes curled with excitement even as the animal part of my brain cringed in fear, and that’s when I realize I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Well, that hardly mattered, the way my head worked, I was lucky I wasn’t naked -- and I stumbled back, choking as a whip of green energy passed through my chest, chilling me to my core.

“What the hell,” I asked breathlessly, clutching a hand to my chest as I gasped for air. The things screeched and attacked again. I dodged the otherworldly projectiles, barely, and they blew apart a pile of rubble behind me.

_ Shit. I should get out of here. _

Or maybe the Inquisition was on its way? If I just hung on long enough, maybe I’d get to see Cassandra, or even Solas, before I woke up…

I jumped behind a pillar as the wraiths came at me again, and another whip of green caught my arm. Rather than cutting me open, it went  _ through _ , like light. Pressed up against the crumbling stone, I felt suddenly like all the energy had been drained out of me, all my soul, and then it was back again. I was me. And me had no way of dealing with something like  _ this _ .

_ Unless… _

I jumped out from behind the pillar, swinging my arms like I was pitching a softball with both hands.

_ Come on, come on! _ Let’s have some -- “Magic, yes!”

Fireballs -- dim, but damaging nonetheless -- burst from my hands one after another, and the things fell back. The fainter of the two flickered and vanished, leaving a battered scrap of fabric at its non-existent feet.

“Alright!” I cheered, punching the air, “Let’s do this!”

Then, before either one of us could ready ourselves for round two, the air itself ripped open. Something like black stone, only oozing darkness, pulsed overhead, and a person -- no, two people -- were outlined in blinding green light on the floor below. The light sparked, and faded, and then there was only one. Only her. Or them. I’d never really gotten that part straight.

“Elana?” I asked, voice hushed to a whisper. She -- they? -- looked up at me, blinked once, exhausted beyond comprehension, and collapsed as a band of templars burst into the lower level. I threw myself behind the pillar again, and held my breath as the wraith descended upon them, distracted by more threatening targets.

Should I show myself? That wraiths’ attacks  _ hurt _ , even if this  _ was _ just a dream, so what was to stop a bunch of templars from smiting me as an apostate, or running me through with a sword? Other than my own twisted mind, obviously.

There was shouting, and spellfire, as the newborn rift released other demons into world, and I ran. Or tried to. Not one step in, a shard of broken glass bit into the heel of my right foot, and I threw myself back against the pillar, slumping to the ground as I picked the stained glass out of my wound.

Damn. I couldn’t go running around like this. Just then, something grey and glittering caught my eye. The rag from before. I lunged out from behind the pillar, snatched it up, and tore it in half with my teeth back in hiding again. Tied them around my feet like makeshift socks.

Well, that was as good as it was going to get. The templars were still fighting. Something horrible shrieked and burned. I couldn’t even bring myself to look.

I ran. Up a staircase, into a clearing that was once a room. When the stone path exploded ahead of me, and a creature hunched and draped in black lurched out of the crater, I didn’t think twice. I turned heel and hid, pushing deeper and deeper into the woods until trees cushioned me from the hellfire at my back.

What was this? What was any of this? How had I not woken up yet?

I leaned up against a tree, my heartbeat drumming in my ears, and closed my eyes hard.

_ Wake up. Wake! Up! _

I opened them, and I was staring at the same snow dusted forest. In the distance, something was on fire. A green meteor like the one that had nearly hit me before arched through the sky.

_ Shit. Shit. _

I waffled, caught halfway between freeze and flight, and my instincts took over, propelling me mindlessly down the mountain as I struggled to make sense of my location.

I was going… southeast, maybe? The path the Inquisitor would take on their way back up the mountain was to my right, certainly, so I’d just keep going that way. Retrace my steps. Yeah. But there were bridges, and checkpoints, right? What would they do if they found me here?

I looked down at myself then, and knew there was no way I could blend in. Sweatpants and a t-shirt weren’t going to help my case.

I mean, it didn’t matter, because none of this was real, right, but still.

I kept going, avoiding the main path while doing my best to keep it within sight. It had been hours, but the rags on my feet were mercifully dry and, if not warm, certainly weren’t chilled through like the rest of me. Mercifully, I saw no more demons.

When I finally came to the edge of a frozen pond, I could barely see straight for all my shivering. There was a cabin, and a fire burning, and I didn’t stop to think why the door would be hanging open. I ran inside, shut the door. There was no one. It was warm.

I hunched down in front of the fire, holding my hands so close the sparks burnt my palms. It was wonderful, everything I’d ever need.

It was some time before I was aware enough to consider my options. How long could I stay here before someone, or something, found me? It almost didn’t matter -- if I went on like this, I’d freeze to death for sure. Or get frostbite. The sun was getting low, and no way I was going out at night.

“Fuck. What do I do, what do I do,” I whined, racking my brain and rocking gently beside the fire. My hands fluttered near my face, overcome by nervous energy.

_ Eat,  _ I told myself. That was something I could do at least. There was food on the table, laid out like someone had abandoned it, and I dove in, shoving rough bread and moldy looking cheese into my mouth without my usual reservation. My hand hovered on a cut of some kind of meat, but, sated some, I decided against it.

Mold I could handle, all cheese was at least a  _ little  _ moldy, but something about that haunch just didn’t look right. And besides, I wasn’t  _ really  _ hungry. This was just a dream, no need to break my vegetarian streak now.

“Not that it would count,” I muttered to myself, tucking in to some dried fruit as something shattered against the nearest wall. I dove to the far side of the cabin -- a little bedroom hidden behind half a way -- and pressed my hands over my mouth to swallow a scream as the chair I’d been sitting on clattered to the ground behind me.

There, curled up on the bed was a woman mauled nearly beyond recognition, her wounds crusted with ice.

My vision swam, and I heard footsteps, and somehow I found myself beneath the bed, beneath her body.

I couldn’t breath. There was blood, beneath me and dripping through the mattress onto me, and there was someone in the room. I saw their feet from the corner of my eye, two booted, two wrapped in cloth not unlike my own.

Suddenly, I was  _ trying  _ not to breath. Not to exist.

_ Don’t move. Don’t think. Don’t scream. You’re not even here. _

They spoke, one after another, in a language like nothing I’d ever heard of. One of the unshod feet came close to the dead woman, leaned over the mattress, spoke, and I bit into my palm to keep from sobbing.

One of the others, a female, replied, and the other sighed. Disappointment?

Then they were gone just as soon as they came. No. One of them remained. Cloth-covered feet whispered over the dirt floor. Approached, paused -- I nearly threw up -- and turned away, following the others out into the cold.

I stayed there, adrenaline rattling through my veins, until I passed out from exhaustion beneath a stranger’s body.


	2. Down the Mountain

I awoke from the least restful sleep of my life caked in dirt and dry blood. Still, I stayed there, listening, breathing beneath the bed I knew held a dead woman’s body just a few feet overhead.

When I was certain there was nothing to hear but wind, I dragged myself out from under the wooden frame and into the freezing cabin. The fire had died in the night, and I’d been too afraid to feed the flames. Whoever had lagged behind had been kind enough to close the door, at least.

There was a pale of water by the fireplace, for washing up, I suppose, and I did just that, scraping the blood and filth from my arms and face like an animal, ever alert for attack. Close to clean at last, I forced myself back into the bedroom to go through a dead woman’s things.

I didn’t let myself look back at her body. I’d never seen one before -- not outside of an open-casket at a funeral, at least -- and it was all I could do to contain my sobbing to a soft moan.

Fuck. How did I come up with this shit? What was my brain thinking, putting me through this garbage?

“Sorry,” I said through gritted teeth as I eased open her wardrobe and pawed through what little she’d once owned. She had two outfits -- a springy green dress, and a sturdier garment of grey wool, plus a brown cloak lined some kind of kind of fur. Rabbit, maybe?

_ And, I’m a hypocrite, _ I thought inanely as I shrugged into my pilfered costume. I took it all, socks, belt, stockings, I even stole the woman’s  _ underwear  _ for god’s sake.

“I am so, so, sorry,” I continued as I went about the room, stuffing what I could into her leather rucksack. “Fuck. Just,  _ so _ sorry.”

Bread, cheese, dried fish -- because why not at this point -- spare socks and underthings, even the green dress went into the bag. There was a small leatherbound journal on her bedside table. A blue book in a square script I didn’t recognize. Into the bag with them.

There was an empty waterskin and a hunting knife already strapped to the bag, plus a bit of what looked to be flint and steel in a small pocket. At last, I slipped on her boots, stuffing the rags from before behind my feet to make them the right size.

Somewhere in there, I ate breakfast. I’d already soiled what water I had cleaning up though, so I went without. I could already feel the dehydration working away at my vitality. I’d need something to drink soon.

I stood. Hefted the rucksack onto my shoulders and took a centering breath as I faced the door.

_ You’re totally fucked,  _ I thought with a grimace.

“You can do this,” I said instead, bringing my fists to my chest. There, beneath my palms, I felt it. A narrow silver chain, and on it, the polished purple pendant my parents had given me for my birthday years and years ago.

I ran my thumb over its smooth surface, brought it to my lips and tucked it into my shirt as I stepped out into the wilderness. My little reminder that this was little more than a dream.

XXX

_How_ , exactly, I was dreaming it all up, I couldn’t say, because I’d never been that cold in my entire life.

Even with my fur lined hood pulled up nearly over my eyes, and the cloak wrapped tight around me, I couldn’t seem to keep the chill out. I packed my waterskin with snow and let it melt against my body, hoping against hope I wasn’t consuming some kind of parasite as I downed the slushy mix of ice and water. I definitely was.

The wind whipped around me, and, eventually, I gave in, returning to the path and more than doubling my pace down the mountain. Soon enough, I happened upon a grounp of weary travelers like myself.

I nearly turned back then and there, but no, this was my best chance. I followed behind, far enough, I thought, to avoid engaging while still trailing them to wherever they were going. Haven, presumably.

I didn’t do a very good job. Almost immediately, a young man called out to me. A short, choppy string of words, probably a greeting, but I didn’t understand a word of it.

I kept walking, edging toward the side of the road so I might pass them, head down.

He called again, and I ignored him, and then he was beside me.

“Alo ug ekaxaupp? Vipt?” He asked, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I jumped away with a yelp, throwing my hands up in what I hoped was a multiversal gesture for ‘please don’t hurt me.’

He did the same, backing off some and smiling in a kindly, exaggerated manner. His party lingered ahead, some half dozen people dressed in furs and carrying packs like I was, and others wearing little more than rags. They looked at least as scared as I did, though, to be fair, I had a much better idea what was going on.

“Dit nud ekaxaupp, Pum weniz whult ug. Wo'lo keick te Whaxavon, hupp peniz ug cemo um us. Chlockth din numfols lidd? _ ”  _ He said then, the words spilling out like rice from a bag as I tried not to cry.

Suddenly, I seemed to have lost my voice entirely. Or maybe my brain realized it would’ve been a mistake to speak some strange language no one’s ever heard of to a bunch of traumatized, probably superstitious, peasants on a road in the middle of nowhere before I did.

I smiled hesitantly and tapped my throat, hoping he would get the message.

“Ug caxaniz spoaxak? Dis zaxat dit? _ ” _

I just tapped my throat again. Pressed my lips together in a weak smile.

“Rot nud kot vevick axarloaxadupp,” called an older woman behind him, as the rest of his party began to move again. _“Sko'rr berred us dib sko waxanks.”_

He nodded, and ran back to the rest of his rag tag crew, beckoning me in their direction.

“Cemo en!” He shouted, but he didn’t wait. I stood there, rooted to the spot until they’d gone on a ways, and broke into a run, slowing to a self-conscious walk at the tail end of their party. I might know where I was going, but I had no idea how to get there. Could barely think through the cold and exhaustion. I needed them.

“Keew steico!” The old woman barked, sparking a chorus of weak laughter.

We continued on in near silence, or it might as well have been for all I understood. The young man from before seemed to ask me a few more questions, but once he realized I wasn’t even following his meaning, he fell into silence.

“Haxat nud yeep naxamo? Nah-xaa-moo?” He asked finally, drawing out the syllables as if that would make a difference. “Pum’v Malte,” he said, pointing to himself. “Malte Rothenstein.”

_ Oh! _

“Malte,” I said quietly, unsure if it was wise to speak.

“Yos! Molupp keew! Act yeep naxamo jed?” He said, shouting with excitement. I tried not to cringe away, and returned a small smile.

_ Naxamo, name. Not all that different from English, then,  _ I told myself resolutely.

“Van,” I said just above a whisper. 

_ Yes. Okay. Keep it simple. _

A name was worth it, though, right? It made me human, less likely to be robbed and left to die a ditch. Hopefully.

“Van, molupp keew,” he said in what seemed to be an assuring voice as we approached a blockade on the bridge to Haven. Or what I thought was Haven. Even from way out here, it was bigger than anything I’d imagined based on the game. Beyond the bridge and the frozen lake, trails of smoke bloomed like blades of grey grass behind the stone wall. It wasn’t a city, or even a town, by any means, but certainly a bit more than the hamlet I’d been expecting.

We joined the mass of refugees at the gates and, slowly, slowly, inched closer to safety. I tried not to think too much, to look at anyone. I was convinced that if I looked anyone in the eyes they’d know instantly I wasn’t one of them. I kept quiet and stared down into the muddy snow as children sobbed around us.

By the time we reached the front of the line, I was so tired I could’ve slept on my feet.

The guards questioned Malte’s party one by one, recording their answers on a stretch of parchment -- who are you, where are you from, I imagine -- until they got to me.

“Yeep naxamo, vaxam?”

“Van,” I replied shyly as Malte looked on from inside the gate, hoping that was what they wanted.

“Act yeep plebossien?”

She spoke so quickly I could barely distinguish one sound from another. I stared back at him warily, tapped my throat.

“Plebossien. Haxat dis dit ug pe, Van?”

“I…” I didn’t know what to say. My name was in there somewhere but…

“Sko nud um us,” Malte broke in before I could falter on any further. “A blioct. Sko rivos an din zo veunkaxains. Peosn’t taxark vust. Pum pen’t zint sko caxan.”

“Act ug’lo coltaxain sko’s jet up axapechaxato?” The guard barked back, her attention already drifting back to the growing crowd.

Malte looked to me, seemed to be searching for something in my eyes.

“Yos, Pum’v coltaxain, ser,” he said at last.

The guard waved me on, and I rushed over the threshold of the gate without another glance back.

I couldn’t say where we went within that maze of wooden walls and cobblestone, or why they let me stay with them, but, somehow, for some reason, Malte kept waving me forward, and eventually, after some bickering, even the old woman, his mother, perhaps, guided me through an old red door into a narrow shack filled with people who looked just like them.

Malte’s family.

They pressed bowls of something warm into our frozen hands and I slurped it down without question. All I remember is it tasted like barley. I think it was the best meal I’ve ever had.

I slept with my pack under my head next to the fireplace, cloak wrapped around me like a sleeping bag, and somehow I didn’t get robbed, and no one threw me in a ditch.

What a day. I was alive, at least. Alive, and fed, and warming up fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me as FadeKhat on Tumblr for chapter updates. Credit to My Big Monkey's Gibberish Translator for the conlang I'll be using for Common/the trade tongue.


End file.
